


A Thousand Miles

by dragonflybeach



Series: The Missing Moments [62]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Pre-Series, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 02:04:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2049213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonflybeach/pseuds/dragonflybeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of the few things John Winchester was sure of any more was that his kids deserved better than this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thousand Miles

**Author's Note:**

> Just a reminder, in the 1980's, especially in small towns, many gas stations still allowed you to pump the gas first and then pay for it.

John Winchester drove over a thousand miles with two thoughts in his head.

  
First of all, if he could just get the boys to Jim, Jim would feed them and make sure they had some place warm and dry to sleep.

  
The second was that so help him, before he went on another hunt, he was going to sit down and map out every dry county in the United States.

  
He had gone into South Carolina on a hunt, further south and east than he usually liked to work, but the case involved housefires and unexplained supernatural activity, so he had gone hoping this would lead him closer to what killed Mary.

  
It hadn't.

  
Two years later, he still had practically no leads on whatever he was hunting, yet he couldn't stop hunting, because whatever it was might come back for Sam.

  
It hadn't been a total waste, either. One evil son of a bitch was permanently stopped from causing harm.

  
Unfortunately, he had also learned the hard way that the laws of one small (probably corrupt) town in western North Carolina allowed the police to hold you until you paid your speeding ticket if your driver's license had an out of state address. He had been forced to hand over $139 that he really needed for gas money.

  
He wasn't worried at the moment. He checked into a motel which had a grand total of six rooms, settled the boys in, and asked the desk clerk for directions to the nearest bar with a pool table.

  
There wasn't one.

  
He had managed to land in one of a handful of counties in the state that didn't sell alcohol.

  
To make things worse, when he checked out in the morning, the desk clerk on duty insisted on walking through the room with him before he left to make certain there was no damage. Of course the man blamed John's kids for the bathroom mirror that had already been cracked when they got there, and made John pay $150 for it, threatening to call the cops if he didn't come up with the cash.

  
John had no choice, because he really didn't want to deal with the local law enforcement again.

  
He was left a thousand miles from Jim, even further from Bobby or Caleb, with exactly $18.16 to his name, less than 1/4 tank of gas, and two hungry children. Fortunately, Hardees in the next town was running a special on sausage biscuits, so he was able to pick up six for $3.

  
In the first little town he came to in Tennessee, he stopped at a gas station, waved at the clerk, and made sure she could see the boys in the back seat. He pumped a full tank of gas, and then took his time, checking the oil and air pressure in the tires and washing the windshield, until the Coke man rolled in and the clerk was distracted by the incoming delivery.

  
John drove away without paying, hoping that the cost of the gas wouldn't come out of the woman's paycheck. He hated himself at times like this, but the people he saved usually didn't have money to pay him, and no one else would do what he was doing.

  
He turned northward as quickly as possible to get across the state line, figuring that even if someone got his license plate number, the paperwork to arrest him in Kentucky and send him back to Tennessee over a petty theft wouldn't be worth it.

  
Unfortunately, there were more dry counties than wet in Kentucky despite the number of distillaries producing Kentucky whiskey, and many of the bordering regions of Ohio and Illinois didn't sell alcohol, either. Hustling pool in the daytime when everyone was sober wasn't impossible, but not worth the risk when John had two little boys in the car who could get caught in the middle of a bad situation.

  
He found a McDonalds that still had the small cheap burgers for under a dollar, and sprung for three burgers and two small orders of fries. He filled a mason jar usually reserved for holy water with tap water from the bathroom.

  
The burger wasn't even enough to fill up Sam, who finished his in a heartbeat, stood up on the bench seat, and pointed to the Happy Meal the kid at the next table had.

  
"Ont dat, Daddy!" Sam announced loudly, a chubby finger directed at the other boy's chicken nuggets.

  
"You have to eat your fries first." Dean said, tugging Sam back down in the seat.

  
Sam shoved a handful of fries into his mouth, chewed about twice, swallowed, and looked at John again. "Ont chichen, Daddy."

  
"You don't need it," John told him. "You've got a burger and fries."

  
"All gone." Sam said with a grin, waving his hands at the empty napkins in front of him.

  
"Are you still hungry?" Dean asked.

  
Sam nodded.

  
Of course he was. The kid ate like a horse for only being two years old. The pediatrician had told Mary that both boys would be over six feet tall when they were grown.

  
"Here," Dean slid the rest of his burger in front of Sam, which was only three bites or so.

  
"Dean, you need to eat." John said.

  
Dean answered that he wasn't really hungry, just as John knew he would.

  
Sam ate the rest of the burger, and then repeated that he wanted "chichen."

  
John sighed, knowing that both of them needed more to eat. "All right. I'll get an order of Chicken Nuggets. But Dean, you eat four and give Sam two, okay? He's already eaten more than you."

  
Dean nodded with a faint smile, and John returned to the counter for the nuggets.

  
They were still 760 miles from Jim, and had less than $10.

  
John couldn't buy his way into a pool game now even if he found one.

  
They were going to have to either sleep in the tent or the car tonight, because he certainly didn't have money for a room. He checked the weather forecast on an abandoned newspaper at the next table. Mid 40's tonight. Tent, because he didn't have enough gas to run the heater all night, and in the tent, they could zip the sleeping bags together and share each other's body heat.

  
He stole another tank of gas and drove as far as he could, until it was dark and Sam was sound asleep with his head in Dean's lap and Dean snored, leaning back in the corner of the seat with his head at an angle that was surely going to give him a sore neck in the morning.

  
John stopped at a small grocery store, picking up a pack of cheap hot dogs, bag of marshmallows, two bananas, and a loaf of bread. He stood with a jar of peanut butter in one hand and a bottle of Mad Dog 20/20 in the other for five full minutes. There wasn't enough money for both. The kids would be hungry tomorrow, and they could get by on peanut butter sandwiches until they got to Jim's place. If he knew Dean at all, the kid had a stash of jelly packets in the car.

  
On the other hand, John needed to be functional enough to drive to Jim's tomorrow, which meant he needed some sleep, especially since he had very little the night before. The alcohol would help. Then again, there was no money for a motel room, so he couldn't afford to be too impaired to take care of himself and the boys. If he was drunk tonight, he might not be able to protect the boys from anything that might come after them. If he didn't get some rest, he wouldn't be alert enough to avoid danger the following day.

  
He was also going to have to try to steal at least one more tank of gas to make it to Jim's place. He could only hope his luck held out.

  
He finally slipped the jar of peanut butter into his jacket pocket without paying for it. Stealing to feed your kids sounded more noble in his mind that stealing cheap booze to help you sleep.

  
John drove them out a few side roads, out into the country, hoping the landscape hadn't changed too much since he had moved away from this area when he was ten years old. He came to a dirt road, leading back to an old hunting camp that his stepfather's family had owned. Or at least, that's where it used to lead. He wouldn't go to the camp, in case there was someone staying there, but he figured that on a weeknight, there probably wouldn't be anyone travelling to or from the camp.

  
He pulled just off the side of the road and pitched the tent along the treeline, leaving the boys asleep in the car as he he readied their campsite and built a fire in the ditch.

  
He finally opened the door with a soft "Hey boys," and gently lifted Sam off Dean.

  
"Deeeeeeeeeeean," the younger child whimpered, reaching toward his brother and nearly twisting out of John's arms. "Dee-hee-een."

  
Dean used to whine for his mommy the same way whe he was sleepy, but Sam doesn't have a mommy.

  
Doesn't have one because John drank a couple beers and fell asleep in front of the tv and didn't drag his sleep addled self up the stairs quickly enough when Mary shouted. Doesn't have one because John's wife tried to protect Sammy, which should have been John's duty.  
Doesn't have one because Mary died and it should have been John.

  
Dean scrambled off the back seat, looked around, and held his arms out to Sam. "Sammy, look! We're camping tonight! We get to sleep in the  
tent!"

  
Sam yawned widely, settling into Dean's arms and hiding his head in the crook of Dean's neck.

  
"C'mon, Sammy." Dean knelt down, wobbling, to set Sam on his feet. "Let's go potty and then ... "  Dean looked up at his father hopefully, his face a mixture of worry and trust.

  
"We have hot dogs and marshmallows to cook over the fire." John held up a bag with a smile that he didn't feel.

  
Dean's shoulders sagged in relief ever so slightly as he turned back to Sam. "You hear that Sammy? Roasted marshmallows! Now let's go peepee and then we'll find sticks to cook on."

  
"Bafroom inna woods?" Sam asked as he toddled at Dean's side, holding his brother's hand.

  
"No, no bathroom." Dean said, leading Sam into the edge of the trees. "We can pee anywhere out here."

  
"Imma pee on a snake." Sam giggled.

  
John unscrewed the lid on the Mad Dog and took his first swig.

  
Dean was much too young to take on this responsibility. He wasn't even in school yet. He should have started this year, but neither John nor Sam was ready to let him go all day.

  
Dean helped Sam with his pants, and then broke two long, thin branches off trees, telling Sam that it was best to get sticks that were green because they wouldn't catch fire as easily.

  
John took another drink.

  
That last summer, John and Mary had talked about taking the kids camping the following year, when Sam was a little bigger. Mary talked about a cabin her family used to go to or maybe a campground with a pool and playground.

  
Instead, two years later Dean knew camping as what they did when John didn't have money for a motel room, a time when they might not have anything to eat or may have huddle together for warmth or sweat like pigs and slap mosquitos all night because they wouldn't be sleeping outside if there was another choice.

  
But bless Dean's heart, he never complained, never told John what a pathetic excuse for a parent he was, never told Sam that things used to be better, back when Dean had a mom. He made it all seem like a grand adventure, telling how Sam how cool it was to travel all the time and not have to stay in one place and to eat new things in new places.

  
Dean had nightmares every time they built a campfire, but he would never admit them to his father, never told John not to make him sit by a fire, just accepted the terrors in his dreams as he had accepted all the other traumas in his short life.

  
John cut open the package of hot dogs. Dean helped Sam poke the stick through his hot dog and showed him how to hold it over the fire, not too close so it didn't burn on the outside, but not too far away or it would never get cooked.

  
Sam ate two hot dogs and Dean ate three, only after John assured him about six times that John didn't want the last hot dog. He worried about that kid sometimes, that Dean was so caught up in taking care of everyone else that the boy had lost himself.

  
But on the other hand, Dean had no idea how thankful John was to have him. Dean with his smile and hug promising that it will all be okay, dad. Dean reminding John to eat and sleep when he was so caught up in everything else that he neglected himself. Dean who was the parent when John didn't know how to be. Dean who took care of Sam in ways that never even crossed John's mind. Dean who had somehow managed to potty train Sam before the baby was even two years old.

  
Thank god he didn't have to buy diapers in the middle of all this.

  
He took another drink, and even though they had moved on to burning marshmallows by that point, Sam noticed that Daddy wasn't drinking out of the mason jar that John had refilled with tap water.

  
"Ont dat!" Sam pointed a chubby hand.

  
"You won't like it." John said, shaking his head.

  
"Ont dat!" Sam insisted. "Ont juice!"

  
"It's not juice." Dean told him.

  
"Ont dat!" Sam repeated, jumping up and standing beside John.

  
John poured just a few drops into the lid and held it out to Sam, who grabbed it and drank greedily.

  
"Yuck!" Sam spluttered with a completely outraged face. He handed the cap back to John and returned to Dean. "Nassy."

  
Dean grinned at John, and then offered Sam another marshmallow.

  
While John sipped the cheap wine, the boys ate until they were full, for once, by which time Sam was nearly asleep in Dean's lap, and the older boy's own eyes were drooping while he tried to hide his yawns.

  
"C'mon, son." John picked up Sam, whose eyes immediately flew open.

  
"Ont Dean!" the child muttered, twisting around to try to grab his brother.

  
"Dean's coming too." John told him, making a note to remind Dean to make Sam walk more. He had noticed the day before that one of Dean's hips was higher than the other from carrying Sam around so much.

  
He carried Sam into the tent, with Dean trailing behind. He settled both boys into the combined sleeping bags, and kissed them on the foreheads.

  
"G'night Daddy." Sammy muttered sleepily with a smile.

  
"Aren't you coming?" Dean asked with a concerned frown.

  
"In just a minute. I gotta make sure the fire is under control." John said.

  
Dean nodded. "Don't stay up too late."

  
John sat back on his heels, watching until Sam's breathing smoothed out and Dean at least closed his eyes, even if the kid wasn't asleep yet.

  
He went back out to the fire and picked up the bottle.

  
Dean was so much like his mother. Mary always seemed to defer to John as the head of the household, but Mary was actually the one who always knew what to do, who steered John in the right direction and then pretended it had been John's idea all along. Dean gave John space to be the leader of their fractured little family, but really it was Dean who held them all together, broken John who was so lost without his wife, and sweet little Sammy who thought everything was right with the world as long as Dean was within his reach.

  
Mary.

  
John picked up the bottle again, not bothering to keep up the pretense that the alcohol was to help him sleep.


End file.
